


Marked

by Gidgit2u



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-11 19:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10472655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gidgit2u/pseuds/Gidgit2u
Summary: War is never diffinitively black nor white.  For those that fall within the grey, patriarchal affiliations become the anchor that sinks ships of even the staunchest neutrality. When errant assistance is sought, will it be in time to prevent the permanent mark of sacrifice?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Death_by_Quill](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Death_by_Quill) collection. 



> Thank you for reading!  
> I do not profit from this story, and I own nothing except the plot.

“Blaise… wake up,” Theo whispered, his words laced with trepidation and shaking with barely suppressed fear. He shook his dorm mate slightly.

“Theo? What time is it?” Blaise muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes and squinting toward the reedy boy beside him.

“Its early, and much too late…” Theo said cryptically. “Get up, I need to talk to you…” Theo glanced around the room filled with sleeping forms. “Privately.”

Blaise slunk out of bed with the elegance of a jaguar stalking his prey; all lithe confidence and with barely a sound. Always the aristocrat, even despite the horrific hour.

He quirked an eyebrow at Theo while swiftly donning robes over silk pajamas and slipping his feet into house shoes.

“All yours.” Blaise drawled. As they stepped through the dormitory door and Blaise was fully able to see Theo, a gasp bled through his lips. Grabbing Theo’s hand, he laced their fingers and turned him to face him. Running his other hand softly down Theo’s ashen face — a face devoid of its usual luminescence — Blaise was alarmed to feel the typically stoic and stalwart Slytherin vibrating with emotion.

“Not here…” Theo chocked out. “Please, just… let's walk.”

The two Slytherins made their way to the east wing’s second floor in silence — hands tightly clasped — seeking out a secluded alcove they'd discovered earlier in the year. A secluded alcove that had become to them a vestibule of solace, in all its newly discovered delectable forms.  
As they sat upon the timeworn chaise ensconced between two dilapidated candelabras — a flick of Blaise's wand and their wicks were aflame — Theo’s verbal dam broke.

“I received word from father.” He said.

“What…now?”

Theo nodded bleakly.

“He felt it prudent to inform me that, despite being a _disappointment_ , there’s still time for me to reform. To see the error of my ways—”

“That's not atypical of him,” said Blaise.

“True. But this was more than just his standard propagandist rhetoric. He ended his message with, ‘ _tomorrow_ _night_.’”

“What's tomorrow night?” Blaise asked.

“I don't know,” sighed Theo miserably. “But I assume the Dark Lord’s patience has run out… and I'm out of time Blaise. If that madmen gets the upper hand, if whatever plan they've devised goes off without a hitch, how long before the only kin of the Dark Lord’s oldest follower escapes the mark?”

“And if it fails…” he gulped back a sob, “I'm the perfect form of punishment — father’s only living heir. Either way, I'm trapped!”

Theo’s eyes welled, a rarity for the reclusive Slytherin, and he wiped angrily at them with the arm of his robes.

Blaise pulled the raven haired boy into his arms.

“We'll find a way, Theo…” he murmured, his breath hitching as he pulled back to gaze into onyx eyes.

The two stared hard at each other before folding themselves into a tangle of arms, frantic caresses and lips restraining silent screams; soaking up comfort from their desperate embrace and ignoring the icy dread that was infiltrating their veins.

**~+~+~+~**

The mood of Slytherin house’s upper echelon was one of tedious anticipation. Despite familial affiliations and the perceptions throughout the majority of the castle, most of the student's bleeding green and silver didn't actually wish for muggles and muggleborns to be slaughtered. Though some did cling to the old ways — traditionalists who wouldn't deign save a muggle or mudblood even if on fire — their numbers weren't as substantial as most were apt to believe.

For the majority, it was simply a game of power and prestige, embraced and perpetuated through generations of indoctrination and the fear of societal status abdication.

Malfoy, the pompous git, was strutting around spouting thinly veiled inferences alluding to plans the Death Eaters were to initiate on behalf of the Dark Lord; his father at the helm.

“Doesn't he realize we're all fucked if the Dark Lord’s plan succeeds?” Murmured Blaise into Theo’s ear, shifting so that his hand rested atop Theo’s as they sat in the common room.

“Malfoy believes his father is elevated above all others.” Theo muttered back. “Bloody peacock doesn't realize his father is merely a _pawn_ , a shiny beacon for the other side to fixate on… he's the offering if the plan should go askew.”

“Like that'd be a right shame…” Said Blaise, eyes twinkling with derision.

“Quite,” Theo agreed, his thumb rubbing circles against Blaise's. “All we can do is wait, and hope.”

“Hope that Potter isn't as bloody thick as the Dark Lord believes, and realizes a trap for what it is...” murmured Blaise, who, overhearing enough of Malfoy’s verbal boasts, had pieced together that the plan involved a trap for Harry Potter.

Bloody Potter, bloody Death Eaters, Bloody Voldemort.

“He _is_ a Gryffindor,” Theo sighed, his tired eyes downcast. His cheeks had yet to regain the blush that typically dusted upon their the apples, nor his lips the saturated pigment that made Blaise think of suckling freshly picked cherries.

Blaise hated the thread of tension that seemed welded to Theo’s mannerisms, weighing them down as if underwater. His chest tightened with the realization that their fates did indeed rest in the brash, emotionally-charged hands of Harry _bloody_ Potter, and sent up a fervent plee to Merlin and Morgana that Potter not perish but instead ultimately finish off the masochistic bastard holding them all hostage.

Theo shifted to lean into Blaise's side, laying his head on his shoulder before sighing.

“This is nice…” he whispered, and Blaise swore silently that he'd do whatever it took to ensure Theo escaped the war unscathed and unmarked.

**~+~+~+~**

“Where’s Malfoy? And the rest of his band of the pink toad’s lackeys?” Blaise asked later, with strained casualness. His normally manicured nails were bitten to the quick, and his lip bore signs of being thoroughly chewed.

Theo glanced quickly around, and, noticing the absence of all members of the Inquisitorial squad, grew pale.

“Fuck… Blaise! Do you think…?

“I'm not—” Blaise broke off as one by one the absent Slytherins staggered into the common room, Malfoy in the rear with Professor Snape dragging him purposefully by the arm.

They all appeared the worse for wear. Crabbe and Goyle both sprouted disgusting green pustules and massive bruises on their visible extremities, a result of at least a few hexes combining erroneously.

Warrington and Montague had their various facial features transfigured, with Montague’s mouth-turned-beak seeming to cause him a fair bit of pain.

Bulstrode appeared magically unscathed though she sported a right nasty scratch under her jaw.

Parkinson, Theo mused, if she was affected either physically or magically, was difficult to assess. Her mouth was always pinched as if sucking on lemons and her disposition left little to be desired. It was hard to tell when her whinging was truly justified.

And Malfoy, well, he appeared the worst off. Blaise could tell someone had cast an incredible bat-bogey hex, and the combination of that spell mixed with numerous other jinxes and hexes had done a number on their dorm mate. It was all Professor Snape could do to keep him standing as he was hauled through the common room door.

Once the door shut itself behind them, Professor Snape began undoing the various incantations and afflictions. He did so with dispassionate efficacy, and if others outside their house believed he favored his own, they were poorly mistaken. It was only under the public eye that Professor Snape showed preference to the snakes, back in their nest he treated them as curtly and derisively as he did the rest of the student body.

“You, _insufferable_ fools,” Professor Snape’s silky tenor drawled as he waved his hand to indicated the pouting disheveled Slytherins he'd just sorted out, “are to remain in your common rooms for the remainder of the night, or find yourself in detention.” With a beady glare, he turned and exited the room, cloak swirling around his ankles.

“What happened?” Blaise asked Bulstrode as all but Montague and Warrington proceeded to join Theo and Blaise where they sat, arranging themselves on the surrounding antique furniture.

“Bloody Gryffindors.” Malfoy spat. “When father hears about this… just they wait, after tonight…” he broke off and looked toward Theo.

“Well, surely _you_ know, Theo.” He taunted.

“Actually Malfoy, I do.” Theo bluffed expertly, straightening away from Blaise’s side and feeling his typical exasperation toward the platinum heir begin to simmer, “Though I was raised to employ discretion in these matters, not boast about clandestine news like a rube.”

Theo smirked as Malfoy’s scowl deepened, and Blaise felt pride blossom in his chest as he watched the Theo he knew and beginning to love rise to the surface.

Unwilling to risk losing face, Malfoy needled, “You're just sore Father was chosen to lead, and that yours was relegated to a lesser duty.”

His sneer was punctuated by Crabbe and Goyle’s sycophantic snickers, and the exasperated rolling of Theo’s eyes.

“And to think, others believe you intelligent,” shot Theo with a shake of his head and a glance filled with mocking pity. Blaise hid a chuckle behind his knuckles as Malfoy’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Wha—”

“Think, Malfoy. Who takes the fall if a mission goes sideways? And who do you think would be trusted enough to assist in damage control should that happen?”  
Blaise laughed outright when he saw the look of comprehension dawn upon Malfoy’s face before it morphed into haughty confidence once more.

“Father won't fail. He's up against Potter; one student against the Dark Lord’s best. And with father at the helm, he'll lead us all to glory.”

“We’ll see.” Theo said simply.

“Let's hope not,” Breathed Blaise, the words low enough that only Theo caught them.

The group fell into contemplative silence as they waited.

**~+~+~+~**

News of the battle and subsequent arrests filtered through the school the following day, trickling down to the dungeons and cloaking the House of Slytherin with the weighted fabrics of vilification and condemnation by proxy.

That Potter and his gang of misfits had made their way to London and subsequently the deepest bowels of the Ministry of Magic unchecked was conveniently overlooked in light of Voldemort’s return and the capture of his upper echelon of followers.

The snakes spent the day clustered together, drawing strength from within, temporarily placing aside personal grievances and social pecking order.

Professor Snape, Theo noticed, appeared sallower than usual, and glowered at the kin of those imprisoned as strongly as he typically did the golden trio.  
Theo, behind his publicly stoic facade, was thrilled that Potter had once again foiled the Dark Lord, and both he and Blaise relished in Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle’s humiliation at having their father’s affiliations publicly outed.

“What happens now,” Blaise asked Theo once school had let out for the summer. The two were lounging in one of the sun-filled porticos on the sprawling Zabini estate, a lazy summer breeze wafting over them.

“I assume father will get in contact at some point, through Cyril,” Theo said dismissively.

“I didn't think house elves could enter Azkaban, nor converse with prisoners?”

Theo snorted, “You forget the part where father’s been in league with the Dark Lord since they were our age. He's had decades to surreptitiously adjust the wards without attracting notice. His is, after all, one of the sacred twenty-eight.”

“Besides…” With a lick of his lips, he flashed Blaise a glance full of seductive heat. As he leaned in closer, his words were punctuated by the soft kisses he peppered upon Blaise’s lips. “We Nott’s aren't used to being denied… access… to what we desire, nor our little creature comforts.”

Blaise melted under Theo’s attention, and soon, the only sounds heard on the breeze were those of two wizards seeking pleasurable escape from the impending storm threatening to overtake them.

**~+~+~+~**

“Please!” Blaise pleaded a day later. “Don't go!”

“I have no choice!”

Blaise could feel hot tears sting his eyes as acid clawed angrily up his throat. “ _Don't_ give up… I'll fix this.”

“There's nothing to _fix_ , Blaise,” said Theo, his own eyes flashing as he folded his trousers before packing them in his trunk. “The die’s been cast. I'll be marked before end of summer as the sacrificial penance father pays for failing the Dark Lord.”

“Wasn't Malfoy the pawn, the sacrifice?”

“No,” said Theo bitterly, “The Dark Lord is furious with Lucius, but father held the Dark Lord’s true esteem and was the ultimate failure by not containing the situation before he was exposed. Draco’s currently not important enough.” Theo’s mouth twisted.

“Mi vuoi bene?”

“Not fair! Of course I do, but I'm trapped. You’re not, and I refuse to be your anchor, your cage.”

Blaise grasped Theo’s icy fingers and watched the shutters fall in front of the glittering onyx orbs.

His heart constricted.

“I can feel you pulling away, but there’s still a chance. Please, don't give up on us, don't lose hope…” Whispered Blaise, and despite their hands remaining clasped, Blaise felt Theo retreat even further.

“I'm going to fix this, _caro mio._ ” Blaise whispered fervently. He leaned in and planted a firm but hasty kiss upon lips chapped from wear, stroking his fingers down a cheek that bore the barest hint of stubble. “I promise.”

**~+~+~+~**

“Albus, I told you earlier! I'm searching for…”

The door was thrown open at his knock and Blaise found himself staring at the pallid face of his Head of House. The momentary look of surprise at seeing an errant student instead of the anticipated visitor quickly morphed to a mask of suspicion.

“Mr. Zabini,” Professor Snape snapped, “School’s been out for half a fortnight. Enlighten me as to the reason you’ve deigned to honored me with your presence?”

“My apologies, Professor. I require your council on a matter most urgent.”

Professor Snape’s eyebrow raised slightly as he steadily regarded the typically poised pupil standing in the corridor; a student out-of-breath, sweating, and disheveled.

Blaise suffered the vague impression of his consciousness being gently nudged, though he might be confusing fatigue for his side-along apparation by House-elf with illegal legillimancy.

The Professor stepped aside and indicated Blaise enter before closing and warding the door behind them.

“Sit, Mr. Zabini,” said Professor Snape, indicating a vacant chair in front of the stoked fire. Blaise sank into the chair’s surprising comfort, though barely registered the luxurious coverings in his frenzied state.

“It's Theo, Professor. He's to be marked before end of summer, and used to punish his father.”

“Some might consider this the highest honor.” Professor Snape said, regarding Blaise with a unwavering, penetrative gaze.

“I know you are Death Eater sir, one of the inner circle. I hoped.” Blaise gulped, and raised pleading eyes to ones as blank as new parchment, “I hoped you'd be able to sway the Dark Lord. This isn't the path Theo wishes to follow. Neither of us do.”

“You risk much, Mr. Zabini, in coming here.”

“I know sir.”

“This betrayal of the Dark Lord… you realize I could kill you here and now, with no one the wiser?”

He ran his fingers down his chin in contemplation, the taut silence mounting and Blaise did all he could to not tremble.

“However,” drawled Professor Snape, “I agree with you that Mr. Nott does not deserve — nor is he suited for — the life and expectations of a Death Eater being thrust upon him.”

Blaise’s heart raced slightly in hope.

“Convincing the Dark Lord away from a path already chosen, however; is foolhardy to the extreme, and comes at great personal risk.”

Professor Snape folded himself out of his seat and began pacing.

“Leave this with me, Mr. Zabini. There are various angles to consider. I will need some time.”

“Thank you Professor,” breathed Blaise, rising to leave.

“Oh, one more thing.”

Blaise turned at the door toward the Professor’s voice.

“ _Obliviate_.”

**~+~+~+~**

“I still don't understand it… one moment I'm being summoned back to Nott Manner to prepare for the Marking ceremony, the next I'm being ordered to stay at yours… and the summer goes by and… nothing!” Theo murmured between bites of roast lamb.

“I don't either.” Blaise whispered. “When I visited, Professor Snape said it was the highest honor to be chosen and that the Dark Lord had made his decision.

That I was a fool to request otherwise, and I'd receive no interference from him with you taking the mark.”

“Then why—?”

“— is Malfoy’s suddenly spouting off about a ‘task’ and keeping his left arm covered and protected? It's obvious, he took the mark instead of you, but what I don't know is _why_. Nothing about this makes sense. But I'd stop complaining, Theo, or one might begin to think you regret missing out.”

Theo leaned in close, the warmth of his breath caressing the edge of Blaise’s ear, causing him to shudder. “I may be confused, Blaise, but I'm definitely _not_ complaining.” His tongue darted out to flick against his ear. “Nor am I missing out. I'm still me — whole and unmarked. I'm still free. I’m still…”

“Doing your best to drive me mental,” Blaise bit out as Theo bit his earlobe. His smirk betrayed his contentment at Theo’s proximity.

“Get a room,” snarled Parkinson, her eyes pining after Malfoy.

Theo pushed away from the table and stood, his former ascetic comportment having restored itself upon being spared the shackles of the Dark Lord’s brand and punishment.

“I have revising to do, join me?” Theo said, holding out his hand as mirth danced in his eyes.

“With pleasure,” replied Blaise.

They ended haphazardly entwined upon Theo’s bed, school books and parchment littering the bedsheets around their cooling bodies.

“I am _always_ up for revising,” smirked Theo, snuggling into Blaise's side. Blaise chuckled smugly, running his finger along the outline of an intimately placed souvenir of his enthusiasm.

“And here I was, under the impression you were against being marked.”

“Not if it's yours,” Theo affirmed, before drifting off into a contented slumber.


End file.
